Nate
by tfm
Summary: Nathaniel Lucas Rossi, born 8th of September, 2010. Mostly lactose intolerant. Likes bugs, dirt and red-heads. R/P. Non-chronological story.
1. Chapter 1

When she heard the scream, Emily Prentiss checked her watch.

4:27am.

He was getting better.

'Dave,' she grunted, before remembering that Rossi was in Los Angeles with the rest of the team. Two days ago, she had assured him that she would be fine. Now, after two days with no sleep, an incessantly pooping machine, and a couple of animals that thought they should have full run of the house, she was regretting that fact.

The cries continued as she pulled herself out of bed, and flipped the bedside light on. Sergio, who had apparently been lurking in the shadows, immediately jumped to her lap and started meowing, as though she had woken up at stupid o'clock specifically to feed him.

The moment she flicked the light switch in the nursery, the cries stopped.

'I'm trying to sleep,' she told her son pointedly. He was smiling, which was clearly a sign that he took after his father. Nathaniel Lucas Rossi was, admittedly, a name she had picked whilst still suffering from the effects of the epidural, but it could have been a lot worse. If Dave were to be believed, he'd almost ended up as Ezekiel Lucifer, but then, Dave liked to mess with her.

Emily bent down, and lifted Nathaniel from the crib. He gurgled happily. Apparently, he wasn't hungry, and wasn't poopy. He just wanted some company.

Holding him to her chest, she made her way back to the master bedroom. Thanks to Dave's idea of luxury, they had an exorbitant number of pillows on the bed. One-handed, she pulled the sheets back, and stuffed the pillows under to form a makeshift barrier. The last thing she needed was him rolling over for the first time, while she slept on, oblivious.

She didn't even remember falling asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Emily's heart sunk as she saw the trail of mud and roots leading down the hallway. She'd almost thought he would have learned by now, but no. Five-year-old boys did not learn to wipe their feet before coming back into the house.

'Nathaniel!' she yelled, reaching for the bottle of all-purpose cleaner that sat on the kitchen counter. She'd taken to keeping a bottle in almost every room of the house – this was not an unusual occurrence.

A dark, curly-haired head poked out of the bathroom doorway. 'Hiiii, Emily.'

Emily narrowed her eyes. Ever since Nathaniel had figured out that Mommy and Daddy weren't actually their names, he'd taken to using their real ones, no matter how many times he was told otherwise.

Today, she didn't want to fight that battle. 'Come here,' she called back, mentally counting how many seconds it took for her son to follow her request.

Forty-six seconds.

He was getting better.

Less comforting, was the dark smears of brown that covered him from head to foot. Dirt, she knew, which was a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

She counted to ten.

It wouldn't do any good to get angry angry. She'd learned that lesson from her mother, though probably not for the right reasons. 'Nate, why are you covered in dirt?'

'Mudgie and me were digging for worms,' he explained, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

'Mudgie and I,' she said, absently, before his words properly sunk in. 'Digging for worms,' she repeated, frowning.

'I wanted to see if they tasted better than gummi worms,' he said. There wasn't even the slightest trace of bashfulness in his words.

She counted to ten again, attempting to convince himself that the thing hanging from his lip wasn't a half a worm. 'Why would they taste better than gummi worms?'

'Because Daddy says the things that grow in the garden are good for me.'

'Vegetables are good for you,' she said, suppressing the sigh. It wouldn't be the best idea to expose him to his cynical side so early. 'Not worms.'

'But the worms help the vegetables grow,' he said. His words were imbued with such five-year-old logic, that Emily knew it was impossible to argue with him. Instead, she had to do her "mother" thing.

'No eating worms,' she told him. 'And if you're going to dig in the garden, clean off the mud before you come inside.'

'Yes, mommy,' Nate said sullenly.

'When you've washed yourself off, you're going to help me clean this mess up, okay?'

There was a long pause, and an even longer pout. 'Okay.' He turned togo back to the bathroom, and then turned again to face her. 'Mommy?'

Emily sighed inwardly. 'Yes Nate?'

'What about snails?'


	3. Chapter 3

The first sport they try to get Nathaniel into is Baseball. For his fifth birthday, Dave buys a ball and glove set that has Emily rolling her eyes. He still makes fun of her for the copy of "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Baseball," which she's actually had for much, much longer than she's known him.

Baseball is not successful.

He's not bad at throwing and catching, and seems to enjoy it well enough, but he resists any attempts at teaching him the rules. It's not until he attempts to use Sergio as an outfielder that they concede defeat.

The second sport they try is Football, which very quickly dissolves into Nate forcing Morgan to give him piggybacks around the park.

'Hockey?' Dave suggests, almost hesitantly. 'Cricket, maybe? I don't know. What kind of sport did you play as a kid?'

Emily crinkles her brow. 'I mostly skipped class and smoked pot,' she says, dismissively. 'I wasn't really into team sports. Maybe running or swimming?'

He's taking swimming lessons, which he seems to like, but he's not really a dolphin or anything. Running, he's probably a little too young for and in any case, it's not exactly social. When asked, Nate is indecisive. He give a shrug, accompanied by a sigh, and for a moment, Emily can recognize herself in him.

Of all the things to make him finally decide, it's the circus. More specifically, it's Cirque du Soleil, which they'd been a little unsure about taking him to, but he seemed eager enough. It's almost amusing, then, that it's the first time in his life where he manages to sit still for more than ten minutes, completely enthralled.

'I want to join the circus,' Nate says, resolutely when they finally get home that night. Emily and Dave share a somewhat exasperated look. Emily imagines that it says something along the lines of "what have we done to deserve this."

The next weekend, they find a place that does circus classes for under tens. 'Two weeks,' is the bet that Dave makes, sounding slightly guilty for betting against his son. But then two weeks pass. Then four, then ten. From circus training, he branches out to gymnastics, which Dave is apparently even more loathe to admit to the rest of the team.

'He's going to be an acrobat!' Garcia says, excitedly, when she finds out.

That, Emily thinks, remains to be seen. It's true that he can juggle without breaking everything within arm's reach now, and Mudgie has learned to get out of the way while he practices his forward rolls.

For his tenth birthday, Morgan buys him a fire-twirling staff, and Emily very nearly considers murder. The rules they lay down are very, very clear.

No twirling in the house.

No buying fuel with your allowance.

No lighting without permission.

No twirling near Mudgie or Sergio.

Thank god the backyard is big enough, and the neighbors aren't prone to calling the cops. When Nate had climbed the big oak tree in the back yard, and tied a rope to one of the upper branches so he could swing across the roof, they hadn't even complained about the screaming.

Dave doesn't complain too much, because it means that when he does play baseball, he's good at sliding home.

The poi he gets for his twelfth birthday almost burns the neighborhood down, at which point Emily decides that they should probably try to get him into something a little less…destructive. When that "something" turns out to be synchronized swimming, Emily is a little concerned, but supportive nonetheless. When she asks him, years later, why none of the other kids had made fun of him for his hobbies, he'd said, "They pretty much just left me alone once they learned I could swallow fire," and she decides not to ask any more questions.

He joins the baseball team to appease his father, and that's where he meets his best friend, Steve (Henry doesn't count, because Henry is more like a brother than a friend). This is the boy that Emily later finds out isn't really "Steve the best friend," but "Steve the boyfriend," which is somewhat relieving, because she knows how dramatic teenage girls can get. Rossi is positively delighted, and Emily knows full well that it's mostly because Steve is as nuts about baseball as he is about Nate, which makes him family.

He's a smart kid, and fortunately he takes as much influence from Reid as he does from Morgan. He's not quite as dexterous with his fingers as he is with the rest of his body, which almost ends in disaster when he tries to pull a quarter out of Sally's ear (Sally is Henry's younger sister – four years old, and not quite as trusting of teenagers as she had been before Nate got into magic (Her hair had grown back eventually)).

By 16, he's rocketed up past 6'3", and isn't quite as nimble as he had been when he was ten. He can still backflip with the best of them, but he'll never quite be a trapeze artist, which doesn't seem to upset him much. It's always been a hobby more than anything else.

He's 24 when he graduates from Stanford after majoring in Microbiology. Steve's waiting at the end of the ceremony with a bunch of flowers, and a heartfelt smile, and Emily can't help but grin widely. A week later, he's wearing a titanium ring on his finger, which she sees as license to play the panicking mother of a groom.

Steve's parents are grey nomads, with more than a bit of hippy mentality. Dave has long since retired, but Emily's still working 60 hour weeks as the Section Chief of Counterintelligence. In light of her son's impending wedding, she cuts it down to 40, and spends her weekends talking about decoration colors with Garcia (Garcia and Kevin have three kids, two of which have already kicked veritable ass at M.I.T).

At the wedding, they both cry, and Nate gets a fistbump of congratulations from his Uncle Morgan. Henry is best man, and Emily had tried so hard not to pay attention to the bachelor party plannings.

'Our boy's all grown up,' Rossi murmurs against her shoulder, as they dance slowly under the spinning disco ball (Garcia's idea, to which she would not take no for an answer).

'Hopefully this means we won't have to do his washing anymore.'

'I think we'll always have to do his washing.'

As with any couple, the topic that eventually comes up is kids. There's much discussion about whether to go the donor route, or to adopt. In the end, the go with the second option.

Emily's almost a little disappointed that he won't be graced with the joy that is poopy diapers and no sleep. It would have been cathartic for her. Instead, they spend eighteen months going through adoption procedures, but in the end, it's worth it.

His name is Javed, and he's six years old. His English isn't great, and his expression turns to relief when Emily starts talking to him in Farsi. He's shy, but sweet, and he stares in wonder when Nate gets out his fire sticks.

He loves Chinese food, and bike riding, and Chesterton, which is the name of the furry creature that hunts the mice in the hallways these days. In spite of the fact that they're not related, his thick dark hair looks a lot like Nate's, and their eyes light up with the same joy.

At first, it's a little weird having someone call her "Grandma," because she's still not quite used to the idea of being old. Her mother is old – nearing ninety, and showing no signs of quitting. Javed loves his great-grandmother as much as he does everyone else. Emily's never met anyone else with such a big heart.

He's quiet, and he likes to read, and he gets on like house on fire with Spencer, whose pronunciation is getting much better. Emily brings a camera when they decide to have a casual baseball game (which is much slower paced than usual, considering that so many of them are getting on in years).

Javed hits a home run (off a pretty slow pitch from his godfather) and Steve wraps him in a hug.

It's 3 o'clock on a Saturday afternoon, when Emily gets the phone call. Nate and Steve live in Boston, which is far enough away to make her pine just a little. It's just her and Dave now.

'Hey mom,' he says, and his voice is just a little too nonchalant for it to be just a casual "how're you going?" call.

'What's wrong?' she asks, frowning.

'What makes you think something's wrong?'

'I'm your mother,' she says, because he doesn't let her pull the "I used to profile terrorists and serial killers for a living" excuse anymore.

There's a long pause. 'It's nothing, really,' he says, finally. 'It's just…he wants to play basketball.'

Emily just laughs.


	4. Chapter 4

Emily Prentiss knows that it's not going to be a good day when she finds her lipstick smeared across the bathroom mirror. Generally, it signifies that a "Nate issue" is about to, or has already taken place.

Sure enough, the contents of her dresser drawers have been strewn across the floor, as though some unnamed five-year-old had gone through them in search of the perfect dress.

Emily followed the trail of discarded shoes down the hallway to her son's bedroom, where she found him honest-to-god primping in front of the mirror.

The saddest thing is that he's done a pretty good job of it. His lipstick (a garishly bright red that Garcia had given her (which she never wears)) is mostly between the lines, and the top that he'd chosen as a dress fits surprisingly well. The heels were always going to be a nightmare, but know he's learned to stuff the backs with tissues so he falls over a little less.

'Mommy!' he shouts, gleefully, upon seeing her standing in the doorway. 'Am I pretty?'

'Always,' Emily says, grabbing the lipstick off him before he can smear it across the carpet. 'Always.'


	5. Chapter 5

Emily gets the phone call at two o'clock on a Friday afternoon. She's already a little stressed thanks to some intel reports coming out of Florida that had been forwarded to her, so the last thing she needs is Nate's principal calling to tell her that her son has been caught smoking pot.

There's a million things running through her head, the first of which is what the fuck, and the second is exactly what she's going to do when she gets a hold of him, because really.

He should know better.

Given that his Dad practically started the BAU, and his mother is an FBI Section Chief, it really doesn't play well for anyone if the news spreads.

Especially, she discovers, when it's not just her son that's in trouble.

Henry and Steve looks just as sheepish as Nate does when she enters the lobby of the administration building. Steve's parents are in Nepal, and JJ's in Charleston, which means that Will might be on his way. Emily folds her arms, and shakes her head, in the way that she'd promised herself she never would. She wonders exactly how much she looks like her mother at that point.

'Mom, I—'

'Save it, Nate,' she says, coolly. 'Right now I have to go beg your principal not to kick you out.'

Her reaction is a little strong, sure, considering the kinds of shit she'd gotten up to as a kid, but then, maybe that's why it does hit her so hard. Because she's grown up far beyond the person she had once been.

'We can talk about it later,' she says, a little softer, because even though it's so long ago, she does remember what it's like.

The dark haired, bespectacled secretary directs her down the hall to the principal's office, and for half a second, she regresses forty years for all the wrong reasons.

'Supervisory Special Agent Prentiss,' the principal greets her, and Emily's a little surprised that the other woman has done her homework. 'You can call me Grace.' Grace is in her early fifties, with greying red hair. 'Unfortunately, you've somehow ended up as the most reachable emergency contact for all three of these young men.'

'That sounds about right,' Emily says, frowning. She's not exactly sure what kind of procedure the schools are supposed to go through in these events, but this feels a little off.

'As an faculty, we're not unaware of the activities that many teens engage for recreation, however, the fact that it occurred on school property, and during school hours means that we can't turn a blind eye.'

'Of course,' Emily agrees.

'Your son is a very bright young man – for the most part – who has a promising future ahead of him. Given that this is his first indication of acting up, I've determined that a one week suspension is a suitable punishment.'

'For all of them?' Emily asks. She's dealt with far too many shady defense attorneys to she could get off this easy.

'I'm not here to play tricks, Agent Prentiss. It's my job to ensure that students get the best education possible, and they can't do that if we threw the book at every minor infraction.' There's a pause. 'I assume I don't need to give you the lecture about imparting discipline?'

'You assume correctly,' she says, with a grimace. There are a few more minutes of conversation surrounding his grades (A's in Chemistry and Biology, a B+ in Math and Gym, with everything else fair to average).

When she makes it back to the lobby, Nate pretends as though he hasn't been trying to listen in.

'Come on,' she says. 'You too, Henry.' JJ's son is eighteen, and should know better, but Emily knows that he hadn't pressured either of his friends into anything. Whenever anything goes wrong, it's a team effort.

Halfway home, she manages to get in contact with JJ, who's somewhat frantic at the three missed calls from the school. When she's finished swearing, she passes the phone onto Dave, who is strangely calm about the whole thing (Still, Emily is a little relieved that he doesn't go into the field anymore, because she can't have him distracted).

There's quite from the front and back seat, and she realizes suddenly that she hasn't actually told them what the principal had said. 'You're not expelled,' she says, to general sighs of relief. 'Suspension for one week, and one hell of an asskicking from me.'

That's not even going into the eternal grounding that Nate's going to get. Even if he is only six months away from being eighteen.

When they pull into the driveway, Emily rounds them up in a corner. They're clearly intimidated, even though Steve, the shortest of the three, has six inches on her. Then she remembers that she's wearing her gun, and cuts them a little slack.

'Do you still have it on you?' she asks, forcefully. They look confused for a moment. 'Come on, guys. I was a teenager once too. Joints don't just come out of nowhere.' Emily pretends not to notice the tears in Nate's eyes as he pulls the baggie from his backpack. She slips it into her pocket to flush later. 'If I ever get wind of you smoking this at school again, you can forget about going to Germany this summer.'

'Yes mom,' he says, sullenly, and the three of them follow her inside.

They're a little too old to be sent to their rooms, but the general glower that she gives is enough to get them to go anyway. Henry's around so often that he's appropriated one of the guest bedrooms as his own, and Steve has been staying with them while his parents spend eleven and a half months of the year teaching impoverished children overseas. Emily's not so naïve as to have missed him sneaking into Nate's bedroom every Friday night, but she'd rather they be messing around in a safe space than in the needle-ridden bathroom of a gangers' karaoke bar.

It's not as though anyone's gonna get pregnant.

Still, having Henry means they won't be doing anything too rash this afternoon. Mostly, they'll be thinking about how much they fucked up, and how long she's going to stay pissed.

Even though her anger has subsided markedly, she decides to keep them under the impression that they're still in deep shit.

It's been a long, long time since she's been at home on a Friday afternoon, and just as long since she's been able to actually cook. Steve is a fairly good cook, and Nate is…experimental. If Dave's home, he'll put something together, but most nights Emily isn't home until past seven.

Since Dave only ever seems to make Italian food, she marinates some lamb steaks. Nate's in his "not a vegetarian" stage, which makes things a hell of a lot easier (the stage will probably last about four months before he decides that he doesn't want to eat meat after all).

Dave calls at four to tell her he'll be home by six. At four-thirty, the boys come downstairs (a little sheepishly) for snacks. Thankfully, it's not a "munchies" kind of hunger, and she sends them away with chips, carrot sticks and dip. By five, she's out of dinner prep work to do, so she relaxes in the living room with glass of Cab Sav and a book. The baggie is still in her pocket, but she'll get around to throwing it out eventually.

Somehow, she manages to drift off, because the next thing she's aware of is Rossi standing right in front of her, saying, 'Emily?'

'Fuck!' The empty wine glass clatters to the carpet, and she almost kicks him in the groin. 'Seriously, Rossi? I have a gun.' Chesterton is sprawled out on the rug by the TV, and opens his eyes wearily to see what's going on before closing them again.

Emily reverts to calling her husband by his surname when she's pissed, which, admittedly, is a lot more often lately. She's not entirely willing to admit that getting called home at two o'clock on a Friday afternoon is the best thing that's happened to her all week.

'JJ will be around to pick up Henry in a bit,' he says, a silver eyebrow raised.

'I'm sorry,' she says, quickly. 'It's just…been one of those weeks.'

'You need a vacation,' he says, matter-of-factly. He picks up her glass and sets it on the coffee table.

'I need to retire,' she counters, mostly joking. She'd never live it down if she retires before him, even if she does have to deal with budget meetings and he doesn't.

'You need to relax.'

Emily gives a laugh. 'I'm sure this will help.' She digs the bag out of her pocket and tosses it to Dave. He examines it for a moment.

'Clearly I didn't teach him properly about buying quality products,' he says, a little dismissively.

'Dave,' Emily chastises him.

'What? If he's gonna smoke pot, we should at least make sure he isn't smoking crap pot.'

'Don't encourage him,' she says, but she's rolling her eyes as she says it.

'Come on, Emily, didn't you ever get caught smoking pot?'

Emily scoffs. 'I never got caught.' And really, pot wasn't the only thing she'd never gotten caught taking.

'Really, we should be pleased he's not cooking meth in the basement.'

Emily concedes the point, but really, she knows that Nate could never quite accomplish that. Not because he's not smart enough, but because he'd probably get distracted and end up making fireworks instead. Accidental meth lab explosions are the last thing they need.

Instead of getting rid of it a different way, like she knows Dave is semi-considering, they do end up flushing it. He goes upstairs to have a chat to Nate and Steve after JJ picks up Henry, before coming down to help her with dinner. There's not really much else to be done though, so he satisfies himself by giving her a shoulder massage while they discuss appropriate punishments.

'Take away his toys,' Dave says, finding the tight knot that's been bugging her for days. 'No car. No TV…' He trails off. The scary thing is, if they take away all the distractions, there's a real chance Nate might actually apply himself properly for once. Take away the distractions and he'd probably find a freaking cure for cancer.

The issue is that any punishment they give Nate, they have to give Steve as well, and temporary guardians or not, Emily still feels uncomfortable in punishing someone else's child. In the end, they take the middle ground, which is no car use for a month – enough for them to understand that they did something wrong, but not so much that he suddenly lets out any resentment that he's been accumulating for the last seventeen years.

Really, though, they'd lucked out with Nate. Emily had done much, much worse things as a teenage (and that's without taking into account the teen pregnancy). Nate is a little chaotic, and a little rambunctious (not as much as he used to be), but he doesn't deliberately set out to misbehave. He's usually just curious. They could have gotten a moody teenage boy that decided to dye his hair black and lock himself in his bedroom. There's no maliciousness behind his behavior, which makes it that much harder to punish.

In the end, though, he should know better. He can do whatever the hell he wants (within reason) once he turns eighteen, and is no longer under their legal guardianship.

By the time dinner's ready, Emily's feeling lightly buzzed, and much less pissed about the situation. The two things are partially correlated, but she's not about to let Nate know that, because it's a tad hypocritical.

'How do you like the Cub's chances this season?' Dave asks, at the start of dinner, which somehow bypasses any awkward conversation that might come around.

Terminator is on, which Nate and Steve stay up to watch, but for Emily, it's been a ridiculous week, so she heads up to bed pretty early. To her surprise, she's followed by Dave. Not so surprising, though, when she figures out what he's after.

'You know, we could always go for a sexual high, instead of a drug one,' Dave suggests, which makes Emily laugh. If nothing else, her husband is highly accomplished at segueing the conversation towards the topic of sex.

Emily's thankful for the fact that they live in an enormous house, and that the master bedroom is on the third floor.

When she comes, it's with a silent scream, and – yes, Dave – a little bit of a high. When it's over, she rests her head on his chest, and for a while they just lie there.

'If this is the worst thing that happens,' Emily says finally, 'I think we did okay.'


	6. Chapter 6

The boy pitching had bright red hair, and his cheeks were starting to burn in the afternoon sun. He struck out the first two batters, and then it was Nate's turn at the plate. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to join the team, but his dad would be happy if he did, so he was at least going to try.

There was a loud crack, as bat hit ball, and Nate didn't even wait to see where the ball went. He made it to second base, huffing slightly. The next hit went into the outfield, so Nate ran like hell. He rounded third, and kept going. Vaguely aware of the ball being thrown towards home, he made to move into a slide, but the catcher was standing there waiting.

Of course, he'd been a gymnast long before he'd ever tried out for team sports, and when he made it to the base without the glove even coming close to touching him, the catcher stood there with a stunned expression on his face.

The very final name they call out is "Nathaniel Rossi," and he gives a surprised sort of smile. Those that didn't make the cut were a little disappointed, one of them kicking the pile of bats as he walked past.

Nate hangs back a little, taking his time as he puts his glove back into his bag. He was a little surprised, but not overly disappointed, when he saw the shadow of the boy standing over him.

The kid with the red hair grinned, and Nate felt his heart flutter. 'Steve,' he introduced himself. 'Nate Rossi, right? I was in your Chem class before I swapped out.'

'Yeah,' Nate agreed. 'You missed out on some fun explosions.' He failed to explain that he'd been responsible for four of the five explosions.

'That was some nice footwork,' Steve continued. 'You played much before today?'

'Yeah,' Nate said. 'My dad taught me. But I'm not as good as it as he would like. I'm more of a…' he trails off, not really wanting to say "acrobat." 'I'm better at solo sports.'

'Alright, well I gotta go. I'll see you around?'

'Sure.' Nate stood there, in a sort of stunned silence. "Around" turned out to be two days later in the cafeteria, ten minutes into lunch.

Nate was scarfing down a peanut-butter sandwich with one hand, holding a book on insects with the other. Henry was supposed to be meeting him for lunch, but was, as usual, late.

'Hey.' Nate looked up to see Steve, who leaned over the table, his muscle shirt a little loose against his still somewhat impressive looking biceps. He gave Nate a grin which could have almost been considered predatory. 'You, uh…you're still wearing eyeliner.' Nate felt the red rising on his cheeks. He'd been messing around with the make-up kit he hid under his bed last night. He must have missed some when he washed his face afterwards. 'And hey! Now you're wearing blush, too.'

Nate scrambled to think of some kind of excuse. Something like "Oh, I was just trying out my costume for that Drama performance," but really, they hadn't even picked costumes for the play yet, let alone decided on makeup.

'You're cute when you're embarrassed,' said Steve, and Nate's heart stopped. 'You like onion rings?'

'Yeah,' said Nate, not quite trusting himself to say anything else.

'Good. Z Burger, tomorrow night at seven?'

Nate stared at him. Was he—

'Uh…yeah,' Nate said, and Steve winked. He scrawled his number onto a scrap of paper.

'See you there.'

Nate stared at the scrap of paper, a little disbelieving. 'What's that?' asked Henry, sliding onto the seat opposite him. Nate shoved the number into his pocket.

'Nothing,' he said.

…

On Friday night at five o'clock, Nate Rossi stared at himself in the mirror. He'd found a pair of jeans that he'd only worn two or three times, and a clean button up shirt that had been hiding underneath his ant farm. He brushed his fingers through his hair a few times, and evaluated the rest of his face. It probably wasn't a great idea to wear eyeliner tonight, regardless of Steve's reaction to it.

At six-fifteen, he grabbed his jacket, slipping his wallet, phone and keys into his pockets, before making his way downstairs.

'Hot date?' asked his father, who was watching football in the living room. Even though he worked a lot, he was still usually home much earlier than Mom. Mudgie and Gobbles were both asleep at the side of the sofa.

Nate gave a nervous laugh. 'I'm just grabbing a burger with Steve.' It wasn't a lie. Not really.

'Have I met Steve?' his Dad grunted, not turning away from the TV.

'No, I met him at the baseball tryouts.'

That, of all things, seemed to pique Dad's interest. Not that Nate was surprised. He made no secret of the fact that he wished Nate was a little manlier. After all, that was why he had tried out for the baseball team in the first place. 'He any good?'

'You'll have to wait until our first game,' Nate told him, not particularly wanting to stay around and discuss the matter, since he knew he would slip up. 'I have to go.'

'You don't want a ride?'

'I can take the Metro.'

'Alright. Home by ten, remember?'

'I remember.' He bent down, and scratched Gobbles under her beak. The turkey gave a satisfied, yet sleepy gobble and curled in closer to Mudgie. Sergio was probably off sulking in a corner somewhere, waiting for the front door to open. Even after all this time, he still hated everyone but Mom.

'Alright. See you Dad.'

'Have fun, Nate,' Dad said, without looking around.

The Metro ride seemed agonizingly long, but that was probably just the nerves kicking in. It was six-fifty five when he got there, and Steve was waiting outside.

'Hey,' Steve grinned. A little less subdued than he had been the previous day, the other boy was wearing jeans, and a t-shirt, with a slim fit blazer. His hair was brushed off to the side casually; a little messy, but much neater than Nate's wild frizz. 'How're you doing?'

'Alright, I guess,' Nate said with a shrug. 'You?'

'Never better.'

They found a booth near the back of the place, and Nate ordered a Veggie Burger with all five different kinds of peppers (but no cheese), and a side of onion rings. He started at the long list of milkshakes before deciding on Peanut Butter and Jelly. Steve gave him a smile, and made the much less embarrassing choice of Cheesesteak and a coke.

'Why no cheese?'

'Lactose intolerant,' Nate told him. 'You don't want to know what happens if I eat too much of it.'

'And yet a milkshake's okay?'

'No,' he admitted. 'But I really wanted a milkshake.'

Steve shook his head. 'So. Nathaniel Rossi. Tell me about yourself.'

Nate knew that people saw him as a little…well…weird. He knew that if he told Steve "I'm a gay, fire-twirling, vegetarian, acrobat who lives with his FBI parents, a turkey, cat and dog," it would only perpetuate that image. 'I uh…' It was somehow ridiculous that he could strike up a conversation with almost anyone, until romance came into it. Then, he suddenly forgot all the rules about social interaction. 'I like insects. And dinosaurs. Most animals. And science.'

'Museums are awesome,' Steve said. 'You been to the Natural History museum?'

'Only like…four times a week.'

Steve laughed. 'So, have you told your parents?' he asked, in a tone that seemed conversational.

Nate felt his expression turn startled as he took the first sip of his milkshake. 'What? That I'm gay? Hell no. But they probably know anyway.'

'What makes you say that?'

'Because my Dad's a Criminal Profiler with the FBI, and my mom's head of Counterintelligence. Trust me, they know.' He was starving, but somehow the conversation was more compelling than the food in front of him.

Steve considered that point. 'Wow,' he said, eventually. 'That's heavy. You think they'd be upset if you actually told them?'

'No,' Nate answered, almost automatically, dipping his onion rings into his milkshake. 'The truth is, they'd be okay with it. I mean, they're religious and stuff, but not in that way.'

'So what's stopping you?'

Nate frowned. He wasn't entirely sure of the answer to that. He wanted to say that it had something to do with his father loving him less, but he knew that his father would love him just the same, even if it meant he didn't have anyone to take hunting.

It wasn't that he was afraid of admitting to himself, either. It was just…one of those things, where the fact had never really been relevant, so he'd never brought it up. He'd never really been in the closet, so it didn't make sense that he'd have to come out of it.

'So FBI, huh?' Steve seemed to realize that the conversation had turned awkward, because he changed the subject almost immediately. 'Do they like…get insanely security-conscious whenever you use the computer?'

'They're mostly pretty good, but I don't really use the computer much anyway. They made me do self-defence classes, but that fit in pretty well with what I was doing already.'

'Like acrobatics?

Nate laughed. 'Acrobatics, fire twirling, some circus stuff.' He paused slightly. 'Synchronised swimming. Baseball feels normal in comparison. Come on,' he said. 'Now it's your turn. I've told you all about me. All I know about you is that you have a lightning pitch.'

Steve suddenly went quiet. 'I'm not really that interesting,' he said, a little dourly. Still, Nate learned that his parents spent most of the year overseas, doing "charity stuff," which meant that he and his eight-year-old sister lived with their aunt most of the time. Then, as quickly as flipping a switch, Steve's mouth dropped open, and he said, 'I don't think I can do this anymore. I'm sorry.'

Before Nate could even say a thing, the other boy had run out. Nate wasn't quite sure what had just happened. He'd thought that things had been going well. Theyhad been, until Nate had started asking questions about Steve's life. Nate didn't even have to think twice before he got up and ran after him.

In spite of his other athletic skills, Nate was not that great a runner. Though Steve only had thirty seconds on him, he'd disappeared.

'Steve?' he called out, trying not to sound completely desperate. 'Steve!'

He could feel the tears starting to well in his eyes. For a first date, things had suddenly become kind of sucky. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, or why, after initiating almost all of the flirtation, Steve had suddenly decided that he wasn't interested.

His watch said that it was almost eight. Way too early to go home, even if he decided to take the Metro home, instead of taking a cab like his parents usually insisted on. They would inevitably ask him what had gone wrong, why he was home so early. Nate couldn't well tell them when he hardly knew himself. He tried to think about all the things he'd learned about profiling from reading his Dad's books when he wasn't supposed to, but his mind didn't work that way. Bugs made more sense to him than people did sometimes.

There was a façade in there somewhere, only Nate had no idea what it was hiding. He wandered at a slow run, in what he hoped was the direction Steve had gone in. Being a Friday night, there were so many people around, it would have been impossible to spot him.

He kept going until he got to the park. It was the kind of park he probably shouldn't have been hanging around in after dark, but that was the farthest from the most important thought in his mind. He found Steve sitting on the edge of a fountain, his hair messed up even more, and his blazer askew.

'I'm sorry,' said Steve, glumly. He didn't look up.

'What the hell was that?' Nate demanded.

'I really like you Nate,' Steve said, and for once, he was the one blushing.

Nate frowned. Of all the answers he'd been expecting, that wasn't it. 'You really like me, so you run out in the middle of dinner?'

There was a long pause.

'I wasn't sure if I really liked you, or if I was only making myself think that I did.'

'Why would you want to make yourself think you did?'

Steve bit his lip. 'It's kind of embarrassing, but I guess…I felt like I might have been doing it to get my parents' attention.'

The whole situation still didn't make a shred of sense to Nate. But then, he reasoned, even with the long hours his parents worked, he'd still never had any problems with getting their attention.

'I can get straight As, make every sports team, rob a bank, and they'd still only ever care about starving orphans in Africa.' His eyes were wet with tears, and Nate stepped forward. He had another one of those moments where he acted without even thinking for a second, and kissed Steve firmly on the lips.

'I like you too,' he said. 'A lot. You don't have to prove anything to anyone.'

Steve gave him a watery smile. 'So is this the part where we start making out in the rain while sappy music plays?'

'I don't really like romance movies,' Nate said. 'But I do like making out.' Though admittedly, he had about five seconds worth of experience.

They walked for a long while. Talking most of the time, but not all of it.

When he finally got home, the house was mostly dark, save for the porch light that had been left on for him. It was 10:45, which meant he was seriously late, but he hadn't gotten any worried phone calls, which usually meant that his parents had already gone to sleep.

Still, he crept in quietly, quickly realising that the house wasn't completely dark. There was still a light on in the den, and as he moved closer, he could hear the TV playing softly.

His Mom was asleep on the sofa, and a repeat of The Simpsons was on in the background, which meant she'd probably been there a while. When she got home late, late, it usually meant that "things had happened" at the office, and all she wanted to do was sleep. Not wanting to disturb her, he grabbed the blanket that was sitting on the end table, and draped it over her.

'How was dinner?'

Nate jumped. 'Shit!' Both of his parents slept easily, but lightly, apparently from a lifetime of weird travelling hours. He still was never quite used to one of them waking up suddenly and scaring the crap out of him. 'Sorry,' he added, even though they were generally okay with him swearing, as long as it infrequent, and not the f-word or the c-word.

She sat up, yawning. 'So, did you have fun?'

Nate shrugged. 'Yeah. We had burgers, and then hung out for a while. It was…It was nice.'

Mom checked her watch. 'Jeez, no wonder I'm hungry.'

A little peckish himself, Nate followed his mother into the kitchen, where she started pulling out bread, cheese, and butter. 'You want grilled cheese?'

'Sure.'

'Like I had to ask,' she grinned. 'So who is he?'

'Huh?' Nate was again, startled. 'Who's who?'

'Your friend Steve. Your father told me he was on the baseball team?'

'Yeah, he's our pitcher. We figured that it was Friday night, so we may as well go out and have some fun.'

There was a long, not quite awkward pause, and Nate didn't miss the slight rise of the eyebrow. 'It was a date,' he suddenly blurted out, before he could convince himself not to. 'I'm gay.'

Emily gives him a soft smile. She's mostly Mom, but sometimes Emily. Dad is never Dave, though, and he's not sure why. 'I know, sweetie.'

Nate, who had been expecting this answer, gave a relieved sigh anyway. 'How long have you known?'

His mother stared at him, and for a second, she almost looked like Nate's grandmother. 'Since you told me you wanted to marry Ron Weasley. When you were six. But even before that, the cross-dressing was a pretty big clue.'

Nate rubbed his eyes. He'd forgotten about the cross-dressing. He still experimented a little with the clothes and the make-up, but generally, he stopped short of giving himself the princess makeover. 'I guess it might have been kinda obvious, but I mean…I just wanted to make sure that you knew.'

She hugged him, and then they sat at the kitchen table in silence, eating grilled lactose-free cheese and chicken noodle soup. Gobbles and Mudgie sat by the table, both alert for any scraps that might get thrown their way. By the time they were done, it was half-past eleven, and Nate was ready to fall asleep.

'Don't think I didn't notice what time you got in,' Emily said, warningly, as they made their way upstairs, dog and turkey in hot pursuit. 'We'll talk about that tomorrow.'

Nate shook his head, and smiled.

He didn't even care.

…

Dave grunted when Emily slid into bed beside him. 'I wondered where you'd gotten to,' he said, without lifting his head.

'Fell asleep on the couch,' she told him. 'Didn't wake up until Nate came home.' At that, Dave rolled over. She suppressed a snort at his pillow beard.

'How was his date?'

'I think it went well,' Emily said, smiling. She made no mention of the conversation they'd had in the kitchen – Nate would tell his father in his own time. 'Apparently he's the pitcher.'

Dave snorted. 'He better be a Cubs fan,' he muttered, before rolling over and falling straight back asleep.


End file.
